I do not own V for Vendetta, Harry Potter, or various London landmarks. I do own my OCs
Chapter 1: The Overture
A lone girl walked down a dark street in London. She was wearing little more than a nightgown under her coat. Her eyes were wide and her breath short, still trying to contemplate what she was about to do. She glanced back and forth across the street, looking for a potential client. A cold breeze blew past her and she quickly drew her wand and ran over to a nearby trash can. "Incendio!" she whispered, pointing her wand at the trash. Immediately, it ignited in magical flame. She spent a few minutes heating herself up, but she couldn't pay the bills with magic, and her job paid barely enough for her to eat. If she didn't find money tonight, she would be out on these streets for good by the next night.
She had walked all the way to Westminster when she finally saw a man hidden in shadows putting out a cigarette in an alley. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had no desire to do this, but she needed the money more than she needed her dignity.
Her eyes snapped open and she started forwards towards the man. "Um, excuse me, sir?" the man glanced up, "Would you, um, like to sleep with me?" The man looked up incredulously. "For money, I mean."
He smiled. "That's got to be the clumsiest proposition I've ever heard."
Despite her nervousness, the girl had to crack a smile at the awkwardness of the situation. "Oh God." She giggled, "I'm sorry."
"Is this your first time, love?"
"Yes, no, I mean for money. But I know what I want and I'll do it." She blushed, trying not to show her embarrassment. "Anything you want, sir. I know I'm young, but I need the money and I promise I know what I'm doing."
The man sighed with a smile. "No," he said drawing a small, silver badge from his pocket, "You don't know what you're doing."
The girl gasped and backed away. "Oh God, you're a Snatcher."
The man barked a laugh. "Give the little lady a prize!"
A hand fell from the shadows onto the girl's shoulder and she spun around to see two more Snatchers smiling at her. "I've got something to give her!" snickered one of them. The two snatchers grabbed the girl by the arm and she struggled vainly against their powerful grips.
Her wand fell out of her coat and fell to the cobbled street with a clatter. The first Snatcher picked it up and twirled it between his fingers. "Tut tut, love," he said with a look of mock disappointment, "Prostitution's a Class H offense. That means we get to exercise our judicial discretion."
One of the Snatchers holding the girl whispered in her ear and she gasped, the blood rushing from her face. "Oh God! Please! Please don't hurt me!"
The first Snatcher held her chin. "Mmm, what do you think, lads?"
Their grip on the girl tightened. "Spare the rod, spoil the child." Said one with a grin. The girl whimpered as the first Snatcher smiled cruelly. "Hear that, love? This rod's for your own good." He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the brick wall. She cried as her cheek burst into pain. She heard the harsh clink of belt buckles coming off and she squeezed here eyes tightly, wishing all of this would end.
"The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him," said a voice, "And fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore." The Snatchers turned away from their prize.
"Oy, we're officers, mate!"
"We're with the ministry, so bugger off!"
A figure moved in the shadows of the street and the Snatchers fingered their wands anxiously. "Disdaining fortune with his brandished steel," said the voice, growing closer and closer, "Which smoked with bloody execution." A flash of a knife was all that was needed for the Snatchers to draw their wands. From the shadows came a black fist, shooting forwards faster than the naked eye could follow. It hit the first Snatcher in the chest and sent him flying backwards. The girl opened her eyes just in time to see the Snatcher flung towards her and she ducked, letting the man smash into the brick wall, a knife stuck deftly through his chest.
The other two Snatchers could be credited with managing twin Expelliarmus spells before the shadows struck again. Both spells missed and the figure flashed his knife passed one's throat, cutting it open.
"Oh, God!" whispered the last Snatcher, "Luminos!" his wand lit up, showing the face of his attacker for the first time, inches away from his own. It was a man in a black cloak with a large, wide-brimmed black hat. His most distinguished feature, however, was a white mask that covered his face. It was the unmistakable visage of the legendary English traitor guy Fawkes, but the mask showed his face split into a wide grin, both charming and horrifying at the same time.
The Snatcher screamed, half in fear of his opponent, half in pain as a knife was plunged into his stomach. The figure stepped back into the shadows and turned to the petrified girl, pressed against the wall next to the deceased Snatcher, as the final assaulter fell over, dead. "Good evening, madam." The girl panted and scrambled along the wall. "I can assure you, ma'am," said the figure, "I mean you know harm."
Her eyes were wide with fear and her heart racing faster than it ever had before. "Who…who are you?"
The figure cocked his head to the side. "Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."
The girl snorted nervously, clutching the wall for support. "Well I can see that!"
"Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation; I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is."
The girl stared at him. "Right." She said slowly.
The man opened his cloak and gestured to the night sky. "But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona:" he cleared his throat and crouched suddenly, moving animatedly as he spoke. "Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition." The man turned sharply and deftly carved a large letter V on the brick wall behind him. He slowly turned back to the girl. "The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous." The man chuckled to himself, but the girl, he sounded downright mad. "Verily," continued the man, "This vichyssoise of verbiate veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you." He bowed, and removed his hat, revealing straight, shoulder length black hair. "And you may call me V," he replaced his hat and stood up.
For a moment, the girl simply stared at V in silence. "Are you, like, a crazy person?" she asked quietly, not entirely sure she wanted the answer.
V leaned back on his heels and lifted his head slightly. "Oh, I'm quite sure they will say so. But to whom, might I ask, am I speaking?"
The girl hesitated. "I'm Evey."
V turned his head thoughtfully. "Evey, E – V. Curious, curious."
Evey gave him a strange look. "Um, what's curious? What does that mean?
"It means that I, like God, do not play with dice and do not believe in coincidence. Here." He held out his hand and Evey gasped as she saw her wand. She quickly darted forward and grabbed it. "I see you are a witch, correct?" Evey nodded hesitantly, pocketing her wand. "Yet you live in muggle London? Could it be that you are…muggle-born?"
Evey immediately drew out her wand again. "What's it to you? Are you with the ministry?"
V held his hands up in surrender. "I have just killed three men under the Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction, I believe you can safely trust me when I tell you I am in no way associated with that newborn hive of scum and villainy." He paused, "Do you enjoy music Evey?"
Evey slowly lowered her wand. "I suppose."
"You see, I am a musician of sorts," said V eagerly, "And I am on my way to give a very special performance."
Evey raised an eyebrow. "What kind of musician?"
"Percussion instruments are my specialty," said V stepping over the corpse of a Snatcher, "But tonight I intend to call upon the entire orchestra for this particular event, and I would be most honored if you could join me."
Evey glanced into the dark streets. She could make a run for it. "I don't think so," she said, slowly edging away.
"I promise you," said V, not trying to catch her as she began walking backwards away from him, "It will be like nothing you've ever seen before."
Evey stopped, her curiosity piqued. "I doubt that. I went to Hogwarts." She said derisively.
V cocked his head. "Well, there is only one way to find out, isn't there?" she hesitated. "I swear to you," he said softly, "Afterwards, you will be returned home safely."
Evey stared at him, thinking hard. "Alright," she said finally. V held out his hand like a gentleman asking for a dance. Evey took it and he suddenly pulled her towards him. He led her to a fire ladder, hidden in the darkness and bowed, motioning for her to go first. Evey glared at him. "If you look up my dress, I'll stomp on your face."
"A lax punishment," he said, "Wouldn't you rather kill me for such a violation of your privacy?" Evey stared at him and shook her head in confusion. She took the ladder and hoisted herself up to the first balcony.
From there, stairs led to the top of the apartment building and Evey gasped as she looked out over the London skyline. "It's so beautiful up here!" she whispered in awe as V joined her. "I can see everything!"
"A more perfect stage could not be asked for." Said V.
Evey looked around. "Um, I don't see any instruments."
"Your powers of observation continue to serve you well," said V dryly. He flashed open his cloak and drew a long, thin, conductor's baton. "But wait!" he cried, "It is to Madam Justice that I dedicate this concerto." He motioned to the golden statue atop the Old Bailey building in the distance. "In honor of the holiday she seems to have taken from these parts, and in recognition of the imposter that stands in her stead; the whore of the dark lord." V turned to Evey, "Tell me, Evey, do you know what day it is?"
"Um, November the 4th?"
In the distance, church bells began to ring. Big Ben gonged across the river. "Not anymore, murmured V, his face slowly turning to the sky. "Remember, remember," V recited, "The fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot." V rolled his shoulders and tapped his baton on a nearby pipe, calling an invisible orchestra to order. "First," he said, almost to himself, "The overture. Yes, yes, the strings." He began to gently conduct. "Listen carefully, can you hear it?" Evey stared at him. There was no music. "Now the brass…" V continued to move his arms.
Slowly, Evey became aware of sound. She slowly walked to the edge of the building and looked down onto the street. "I can hear it." She said softly. Indeed, the stains and tones of the 1812 Overture were growing louder and louder until they were blasting from the London Sound System. People started to stream onto the streets to see the commotion. Evey felt her heart rise and fall with the grand and epic piece.
"Wait!" Cried V, unbridled joy palpable in his voice. "Here comes the crescendo!" He raised his arms triumphantly to the Old Bailey and, just as the music climaxed, Lady Justice exploded in a giant fireball. Evey gasped and watched as the iconic building exploded with the force of a thousand spells. V laughed, not in insanity, but in happiness. "How beautiful, is it not?!" he shouted over the explosions. From the fire erupted a series of fireworks, forming a massive, flaming V in the sky above the rubble. The song ended with the explosions and V dropped his hands to his side. "Oh, that was fun!" he sighed contentedly, "But all good things must come to an end. Now, I believe I promised to see you home?" He offered Evey his arm and she took it, completely immersed in shock.
She did not remember getting home, or being tucked into bed. The next thing she new, her alarm was blaring, telling her to get ready for another day at the hell that was the Daily Prophet's Radio Department.